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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646248">Little Secrets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryline/pseuds/ivoryline'>ivoryline</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Good Omens AU, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), author attempts to tell a story with songs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:34:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryline/pseuds/ivoryline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU containing a journalist, an heir, two burned careers, and a slow come around.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anathema Device &amp; Newton Pulsifer, Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>My face blew up at such a casual sight</em><br/>
<em>The smattered colors of ecstatic fright</em><br/>
<em>The rush above me to oblivion</em><br/>
<em>Outlining wet sidewalks in halogen</em><br/>
Little Secrets- Passion Pit</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Aziraphale sat alone. He was in a vaguely sticky booth at a dingy bar he ordinarily wouldn't be caught dead in and he was waiting on someone. He straightened his notebook for what was perhaps the hundredth time and made sure his pen was situated just so. The man he was meant to be interviewing, one Anthony J. Crowley, was late. Aziraphale supposed he shouldn't be surprised with the man's reputation.</p><p><br/>
Aziraphale took a sip from his wine glass, a cheap red, and pursed his lips. He glanced out over the bar at the sparse crowd of patrons. In the dim lighting he could see a pair of men clinging to each other in another booth. Aziraphale looked away. The music was loud and not to his taste at all. He was ready to give it up as a bad job when a man with disheveled red hair and sunglasses slid into the booth across from him.</p><p><br/>
"A.Z. Fell, right?" the man said, not bothering to remove his sunglasses.</p><p><br/>
"You're late, Mr. Crowley," Aziraphale responded and took another sip of wine. The redhead waved the statement away with a lazy hand.</p><p><br/>
"I'm aware. It's just Crowley, no need for any of that other shit," Crowley told him. Aziraphale suppressed a sigh and flipped open his notebook to a clean page. As Aziraphale clicked his pen Crowley rapped on the table with his knuckles. "Be back." He slid back out of the booth and made his way to the bar. Aziraphale took the opportunity to study the other man.</p><p><br/>
He wasn't sure how Crowley managed to sway his hips like that in those incredibly tight trousers. Aziraphale briefly considered the mechanics of it and came to the conclusion that he may never know. He was wearing a leather jacket and the lighting was too poor for Aziraphale to make out details of the shirt underneath but the whole ensemble was black. He had to admit with the hair and the sunglasses and the small snake tattoo on his cheek the whole affect was quite fetching, just slightly tinged with a hint of danger at the edges.</p><p><br/>
Aziraphale had seen pictures of Crowley, of course. The man was frequently in the tabloids. One night stands, clubbing, the whole bit. He supposed that came with being the heir to one of the world's most prominent tech companies. Too much money and too much time on his hands. The man in question, having secured a short glass of something dark, came back to the booth and reclaimed his seat.</p><p><br/>
"Right. I'm ready now," Crowley said. He sprawled his limbs out, looking completely at ease, and took a healthy drink from his glass. </p><p><br/>
"Let's get started then. So-" Aziraphale began but Crowley interrupted.</p><p><br/>
"What, no voice recorder thing?" he asked.</p><p><br/>
"No, no voice recorder thing. Never quite got the hang of them, I'm afraid. We'll be doing this the old fashioned way," Aziraphale told him with a sigh. Crowley cocked an eyebrow. Aziraphale waited for some sort of response from the other man, but apparently there wasn't going to be one. Aziraphale clicked his pen a few times trying to shake out the sudden nerves that came from Crowley's silent gaze. "Right, so up until about eight years ago you were the lead programmer at Morningstar. A majority of your work was astronomy related, wasn't it?"</p><p><br/>
"It was," Crowley responded, sounding flat. Aziraphale gave his pen a few more clicks.</p><p><br/>
"Why? What was it about astronomy that interested you?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley looked mildly surprised, his mouth had dropped open just a smidge. There was a short pause where Aziraphale could see the redhead gathering his thoughts.</p><p><br/>
"Er, well, it's space, y'know. Stars and all that. A black stretch of infinity full of questions and I wanted to see if I couldn't find a few answers, I guess," Crowley said. Aziraphale's pen flew across the paper.</p><p><br/>
"What sort of programs did you work on?"</p><p><br/>
"Before I, um, left, I was working on an app. It was supposed to tell you what planets, stars, and whatever that could be viewed best on any given day," Crowley said and turned his gaze down to the glass in his hand, "never quite finished it, though." Aziraphale continued through his list of questions about the work Crowley did before his sudden departure from his parents' company. Crowley seemed to relax as the interview carried on and only required a few verbal prompts from Aziraphale to continue with his trains of thought. </p><p><br/>
Aziraphale had asked his last question and gotten his last answer and was skimming back through his notes. He was adding a few notes here and there in the margins and trying to ignore the sudden anxious sounding tapping Crowley was doing on the side of his now empty glass. </p><p><br/>
"Is that it, then?" Crowley asked.</p><p><br/>
"Afraid so," Aziraphale answered though his focus was on his notebook.</p><p><br/>
"Not gonna ask me about, I don't know, the coke rumors? Whatever club TMZ has pictures of me stumbling out of?" Aziraphale heard the attempt of humor in the question but wasn't quite sure where the joke was.</p><p><br/>
"Why would I do that?" he asked distractedly. He scribbled a reminder in the margin for him to have Anathema to find some reference photos for the star systems Crowley had mentioned.</p><p><br/>
"That's what makes the money, right?" Crowley asked slowly, like maybe Aziraphale was simple. Aziraphale waved his hand in a vague gesture.</p><p><br/>
"Oh, I don't care about that," he answered. </p><p><br/>
"You what?" Aziraphale looked up at the tone of Crowley's voice. The man had another look of surprise on his face.</p><p><br/>
"I don't care. This was more interesting than us trading gossip and rumors, wasn't it?" Aziraphale watched as Crowley's look of surprise changed to one of confusion.</p><p><br/>
"You write for the Celestial Observer, right? They run ten hit pieces on me a week. This can't have been what you were sent to do," he said, abandoning his sprawl to lean forward on his elbows. </p><p><br/>
"Yes, well," Aziraphale offered as an explanation. There was a pause during which Aziraphale had to wonder how much Crowley could see behind those shades and then Crowley clapped his hands together, startling him. The redhead began to laugh.</p><p><br/>
"It wasn't was it? Oh, that is excellent. You," Crowley jabbed a finger in his direction, "are going to be in deep shit for this, aren't you?" Aziraphale felt heat rise to his cheeks as he fiddled with the cuffs of his button down shirt. </p><p><br/>
"Like I said, this was more interesting," Aziraphale mumbled. Crowley continued to laugh as he patted his pockets down. He extracted a business card and slid it over to Aziraphale.</p><p><br/>
"I like you. Next time you'd like a chat bypass my assistant, he's hopeless," Crowley told him as he got to his feet, "feel free to ask me about the coke." Crowley gave Aziraphale a wave over his shoulder and was gone just as quickly as he appeared. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>So if you had to keep singing then singing should be fine</em><br/><em>And if it ain't what you had pictured</em><br/><em>Yeah that sounds about right</em><br/>I'm Not Crying. You're Not Crying, Are You? - Dear and the Headlights</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>Aziraphale sat at his terminally messy desk and worked on typing up his interview with Crowley. He was...different than Aziraphale had anticipated. He had expected someone arrogant and vapid. Crowley certainly had some degree of arrogance, no man who opted to wear his sunglasses in the near dark wasn't at least a little arrogant. Crowley wasn't vapid, though. Far from it.</p>
<p><br/>Crowley had been smart and passionate. Not just when he was answering Aziraphale's questions but when he had worked for Morningstar. Aziraphale had done some research on Crowley's past work when working out his interview questions and though he admittedly understood very little of the technical jargon he had been impressed. What had made him unceremoniously give up his career? </p>
<p><br/>Aziraphale idly picked up his pen and drew slow loops on an errant piece of paper. Crowley said he was in the middle of developing an app when he left. Why would he up and leave in the middle of a project? Surely taking advantage of London's nightlife couldn't have had that much of an appeal. Aziraphale had thrown out Crowley's business card, thinking the gesture had been inappropriate, but now he was considering digging it out of the trash.</p>
<p><br/>His thoughts were interrupted by Anathema shouldering open his office door. It banged open loudly and she shuffled in with a harried expression.</p>
<p><br/>"Sorry I'm late. Brought you a tea, though," she said, depositing said tea on his desk. </p>
<p><br/>"Well, that's alright then. Thank you, my dear," he said. Aziraphale watched as the young woman got settled in at her desk and booted up her computer. He was waiting for her to check her emails and when she threw him a sharp glance he knew she had read the one he sent her late the night before.</p>
<p><br/>"Why are you asking me to find space pictures for that Anthony Crowley interview?" she asked.</p>
<p><br/>"For reference," he said innocently. </p>
<p><br/>"Reference for what? Is he sleeping his way through Mars now?" she scoffed. Aziraphale tisked but otherwise didn't respond. Anathema pushed her round glasses further up her nose. "Aziraphale, what did you do?"</p>
<p><br/>"I gave an interview. A <em>good</em> one," he sniffed. Anathema rolled her eyes.</p>
<p><br/>"You're joking. You were supposed to be asking him about his drug habit," she told him.</p>
<p><br/>"You know, I don't think Crowley does coke," he said thoughtfully.</p>
<p><br/>"You'd know whether or not he does coke if you had asked him if he does coke. Like you were <em>supposed</em> to," she scolded.</p>
<p><br/>"I don't need to take this from a junior reporter, thank you," Aziraphale said and turned back to his computer.</p>
<p><br/>"Aziraphale, Gabriel is gonna be pissed," she hissed.</p>
<p><br/>"We'll throw in a puff piece. Happy?" he said with a sigh.</p>
<p> <br/>"Not really, no." They lapsed into silence and Aziraphale went back to typing. "I'll email you the pictures."</p>
<p><br/>"Thank you, dear."</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p><br/><br/>Aziraphale unlocked the door to his flat and hung his coat on the rack. He flipped on lights as he made his way to the kitchen. He was comfortable in the home he had made for himself but something about the way the streetlight came in through the blinds had always unnerved him. He dug out some takeaway from his fridge, transferred it to a plate, and put it in the microwave. </p>
<p><br/>He leaned against the counter as he waited for his dinner to reheat. The only sounds were the hum of the microwave and the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Aziraphale pushed off from the counter and went into his sitting room. He couldn't take the silence. He selected a CD at random and jammed it into his cheap little radio. </p>
<p><br/>He watched the CD spin and contemplated getting a cat. Having a living creature to come home to might make the whole affair less depressing, but then again he'd have to take care of it. He wasn't sure he wanted to be the sad, old gay man with a cat either. Maybe he'd just get a plant. </p>
<p><br/>The microwave dinged, interrupting Aziraphale's musings. He ate his dinner over the sink even though he knew it depressed him to do that. He made himself a cup of cocoa and retired to the sitting room. He spent some time sulking over the fact that Anathema had been right: Gabriel was not going to be pleased with his interview. </p>
<p><br/>That train of thought inevitably led him back to Crowley. The look of surprise when Aziraphale had asked about his work. Long fingers tapping on an empty glass. The way his laughter had been a full body affair, head leaned back and his arms wrapping around his own torso. Crowley saying that he liked him. </p>
<p><br/>Aziraphale's cocoa went cold and his flat seemed somehow emptier than before.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>come chat with me on <a>tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come talk to me on <a href="http://www.ivory-line.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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